


There Was Nothing To Lose

by katabasis (aphorat)



Category: LUNA SEA
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphorat/pseuds/katabasis
Summary: In September 1991, Typhoon Mireille's sudden appearance forces Luna Sea to delay their tour final by an hour. After the concert finally concludes, the rain shows no signs of stopping, and Ryuichi takes shelter with Sugizo.





	There Was Nothing To Lose

**Author's Note:**

> This is, of course, completely dramatized.

"It isn't worth the risk to walk home in this," the guitarist states dourly, as torrents of rain soak them through so soon as they disembark from the platform. They're on their way back from the venue when the trains are finally forced to shut down, and they're close enough to Sugizo's apartment but less so to Ryuichi's, which is three more stops away and several kilometers besides.   
  
Their route from the station to his apartment is a short one, but it seems longer in the storm, and if the vocalist were to stay out any longer he could risk catching a cold or worse. And they can't have him out of commission, not when they're so busy with another tour to prepare for; so Ryuichi accepts his offer of crashing on the couch, brow furrowing as long black hair plasters to his face and neck.  
  
"This is absurd," Ryuichi mutters through the howling wind, as a shop sign tears free of its post and skitters into the road beside them. "Even for Japan." His hair is going to be a nightmare to untangle, and he'll probably have to buy Sugizo a new brush after all's said and done.   
  
"Hopefully the power isn't out at home yet," Sugizo replies, voice raised above the noise, "so we can check the weather reports and see how long this is going to last. Global warming at its finest," he adds, lips pursed in a thin line, and the smaller man shrugs, squinting out at the distant storm clouds.   
  
"I doubt the forecast will have anything good to predict," Ryuichi says darkly, and they hurry down the street to the guitarist's apartment and duck through the door in tandem, shaking the worst of the water from themselves on the welcome mat before making their way up the stairs.  
  
Sugizo unlocks the door and Ryuichi makes a beeline for the bathroom, murmuring something about not wanting to drip all over his floor, and the other man nods without a second glance, heading to his room to change and find spare clothing for him. He flicks the television on while he's there, a small boxy thing on the dresser, and turns it to the news station before heading out again, t-shirt and sweatpants in hand.   
  
The bathroom door's open so he steps inside to set them on the counter—but the sight of Ryuichi gives him pause, and he lingers in the doorway instead of retreating to give him privacy, gaze roaming slowly and unabashedly over his features. The heavy wet curls of his hair are gathered over one shoulder, where he's wringing it into the sink as best he can, and Sugizo's gaze comes to rest on his back, where his white dress shirt clings to the curves of his waist and the dip of his spine, and—  
  
"Yasuhiro?" Ryuichi asks inquisitively, as the guitarist sets the clothing down and steps closer, coming to rest behind him. His chest isn't quite touching the shorter man's back, not yet; but one hand drops to his hip as he looks up, meeting Ryuichi's gaze in the mirror.   
  
"Hm?" He intones, as if he doesn't know what the other man is asking him; but he goes no further, not until the singer makes an acquiescent noise and turns his head, permission enough for him to dip his head down and kiss him, exploratory and deep from the start. The hand at Ryuichi's hip grasps more tightly, and the other drops down to cover the vocalist's own, still wet with the rainwater wrung out of his hair.  
  
Sugizo closes the gap between them then, lips and teeth working from his jaw to the length of his neck, and Ryuichi releases a shuddering breath, leaning backwards into the touch. His still-wet palm slips on the counter, momentarily unsteadying them both, and the guitarist huffs a faltering laugh before urging him out of the bathroom and down the hallway.   
  
The guitarist sheds his clothes quickly before rounding on Ryuichi, overzealous as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. "You'll buy me a new one, you know that, don't you?" The smaller man intones against his throat as one button skitters against the wood floor, then another, and sinks his teeth in hard enough to get the message across as Sugizo  _mmhm_ s back, pushing the fabric from his shoulders and reaching for the front of his jeans.   
  
"Sure," he replies amiably, tipping his head back to grant Ryuichi access, "whatever you like." He unfastens the other man's jeans and pushes them down along with his underwear, then steps back to take in the sight of him, brazen and grinning as his gaze lingers between his legs.   
  
The smaller man rolls his eyes, moving close enough to run his hands up Sugizo's sinewy torso, nails dragging light and teasing up the length of it. “ _Whatever_ , hm?"   
  
Sugizo peers down at him with an eyebrow arched incredulously, then backs him up against the bed unceremoniously before following him down, grasping one of his legs and hooking it around his waist. "Within reason, of course," he says as he grinds his cock down against Ryuichi's, and it pulls a hoarse moan from the singer, fingers darting around to his back before continuing their ministrations, nails pressing in harder this time.   
  
"That's no fun," he replies, lip curved down in a mock pout—but his protests are quickly cut short by a long-fingered hand wrapping around their cocks, stroking for a moment so hard and fast that it almost hurts. "Shit," he breathes harshly, nails digging in near the small of his back; but the other man pulls away in short order, reaching into his nightstand for a tube of lubricant.   
  
Ryuichi shudders around a moan as the first slick finger works its way inside him, just gradual enough to allow him time to adjust and yield before a second follows suit, thrusting in deep and crooking just slightly. The singer throws his head back, momentarily overwhelmed by the feel of them: they're long and slim, but thicker at the joints and he can  _feel_  where they widen and  _fuck_ , it's almost too much.  
  
"You really want this, don't you," Sugizo observes as the other man rocks up against his fingers, visibly pleased with his responsiveness. Ryuichi peers up at him through lidded eyes, exuding sudden annoyance despite his persistent arousal. It's an obvious opening to get him to stroke his ego, butter him up with praise and desperate pleas; but he isn't falling for it, replying in flat, unimpressed tones as he digs his heel into Sugizo's spine.  
  
"Do you really think I'd be letting this happen if I didn't? Fuck me already, before the moment's gone and I get bored."  
  
The guitarist's self-assured grin falters briefly, but he bounces back easily enough, pulling back to settle on his knees and slick himself down. "Fair point," he admits, and curves over Ryuichi with a hungry sort of look, hands dropping down to squeeze as they part his thighs. He eases in slowly at first, testing the waters as the vocalist's fingers stroke up and down his spine, but as soon as the lingering tension in Ryuichi starts to fade he starts to move his hips, swearing behind a shaky exhale.   
  
With that, he sets a punishing pace, unable to restrain himself with how the other man spurs him on with gasps and the pointed drag of nails down his back. Ryuichi isn't used to such rough treatment but soon grows dizzy from it, wanting to ask for more despite how much it feels like giving in. He conveys it with actions instead, hands dropping down to grab at his ass, urging him deeper as the meteorologist on TV speaks of sustained winds and irreversibly damaged crops.  
  
In time, Sugizo works the smaller man's arms over his head and pins him against the pillows, fingers wrapping easily around his small wrists, and his thrusts turn harsher still, working throaty moans from him with each sharp snap of his hips. Ryuichi’s fingers grasp uselessly in the air, body squirming beneath him, and when Sugizo finally releases his arms (he’s moving too much for it now, but perhaps some other time—) his hands are back at his shoulders, clawing desperately at the flushed skin beneath his fingers. The guitarist is lost in the heat of him, in the sting of Ryuichi's nails leaving red trails down his back—  
  
—and then the lights suddenly flicker and go out, and they're drowned in sudden darkness. It's quiet now too with the television silenced, and it makes their breathing, the sound of skin meeting skin that much louder in the too-warm room. They can barely see each other for how dark it is without the city lights there to shine through Sugizo's window, and other senses heighten to make up for the loss, fingerpads grazing along each ridge, each divot of along their bodies. Ryuichi stares blindly up above him, searching for the faint outline of his jaw, his shoulder; breaths going shallow and uneven as their movements grow more urgent.  
  
One of the guitarist's hands is upon him then, reaching between his legs to stroke at his cock before smoothing over his stomach, his chest; and he comes just like that, one hand fisted tight in Sugizo's hair while the other claws at his shoulder blade, shuddering through each successive wave of pleasure. He moans in sudden exhaustion as the taller man continues, overtaxed and slack against the mattress but spurring him on all the same with gasped encouragements and murmurs of his name.  
  
Sugizo's movements roughen and grow increasingly erratic as he draws closer to his own release, head tipping forward to drag teeth across his collar bone. "Fuck," he groans, muffled against the jut of bone there before he bites down once more and comes, the singer's hands burying in his hair to hold him in place as he catches tender skin between his teeth.   
  
There's a long moment in which they don't move at all, sweat and come cooling on their skin and conjuring goosebumps to the surface of it. Eventually Sugizo pulls away long enough to fumble around his nightstand for a wad of tissues, and starts wiping Ryuichi's stomach down blindly before the singer snorts in muted amusement and grabs them from his hand. "Thanks, but I can take care of that myself," he says, overworked vocal chords adding a quiet roughness to his tone. The guitarist grins unseen, relinquishing the tissues and trailing open-mouthed kisses along his neck as he eases onto his side.  
  
"Just trying to be helpful," he murmurs against his neck, one arm snaking around the other man's waist, and while Ryuichi can't see him smiling he thinks he can hear it in his tone, feather-light and full of muted humor as fingertips stroke across his hip.   
  
"What a gentleman," the singer replies with a long-suffering shake of his head, shifting in order to seek his lips out for one more languid kiss. Sugizo returns it eagerly, laughing against his lips before they break apart to sleep.  
  
-  
  
Ryuichi rouses once when the power whirs back on, sitting up and dragging his fingers through tangled, still-damp hair. He gets out of bed long enough to turn off the television and lights, make a trip to the bathroom and stare down at the street below the apartment. He's back beneath the sheets before long, expression guarded as he settles down beside Sugizo and watches the rise and fall of his silhouette as he sleeps. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; Sugizo had wanted him, glaringly so, and it had felt  _good_ , to have that desire focused on him.   
  
It'll complicate things though, he's sure of it; in what way though, he isn't sure, and he tries his best not to dwell on it. He meditates on these circling thoughts despite his exhaustion, and it takes him a long while to sink back into an uneasy sleep, back curved against the guitarist's chest.   
  
Sugizo nudges him awake sometime mid-morning, with a steaming mug of tea that brightens Ryuichi's bleary-eyed expression. He accepts the cup with a warm smile, and for a moment all traces of reluctance are gone from his mind—because he's still here, offering him tea and a handsome smile and his company, messy red hair managing to come across as charming rather than ridiculous.   
  
"Morning," the taller man says airily, dropping next to him on the bed, "do you know when the power came back on? I noticed the TV and lights were off when I woke up, so I figured you took care of it."  
  
"Ah," Ryuichi begins, trying to remember when it was that he woke up. "Around three-thirty, I think? The storm seemed to have eased up, for a while." They both glance out the window then, where rain pounds against the glass and wind whistles between the buildings. "Sounds like it's back to it now though, huh," he observes, and Sugizo nods, expression grim.   
  
"I managed to get through to Kiyonobu on the phone earlier, and he'd already been in touch with Shinya and Jun. We're definitely lying low today."   
  
"I figured as much," Ryuichi replies, sitting up a bit more and resting against the headboard. The sheets slip away from his shoulders and pool around his waist when he does so, and Sugizo doesn't try to hide the way his eyes linger on his body.   
  
"I just realized," Sugizo says after a moment sounding almost dazed, and Ryuichi arches an inquisitive eyebrow over the rim of his mug. "Those clothes I got out for you are still on the counter. One sec'," he adds, sliding out of bed and retreating to the hallway. He comes back with the clothes in one hand and a brush in the other, and the singer's brow furrows when he sees it, curious.   
  
"Your hair looks... pretty tangled," Sugizo says, picking his words carefully as he sets the clothes down and climbs back into bed. "That's my fault," he adds with a faint grin, and Ryuichi rolls his eyes, reaching up to comb his fingers through it. They catch on a knot almost instantly, and he sighs, casting a sideways glance at the other man.  
  
"It sure was," he replies, unimpassioned, and the guitarist shrugs apologetically, motioning for him to move forward on the bed.   
  
"I'll take care of it," he murmurs, settling behind Ryuichi after he shifts away from the headboard and gathering heavy curls in hand. He brushes through the tangle of his hair gently, methodically, and not once does Ryuichi wince over brush bristles caught on his knots.   
  
"Thank you," he says afterward, as the other man cards long fingers through newly-soft locks, and eventually finds himself settled back against his chest, eyes hooded as nails drag lightly across his scalp.   
  
They stay there for a while, comfortable and quiet as they listen to the rain drum against the window, until finally their empty stomachs force them up into the kitchen. Ryuichi pulls on the clothes Sugizo set out for him, and they're loose and comfortable and just this side of baggy. Ryuichi thinks the guitarist is enjoying the sight of him wearing them a little too much, but he says nothing, letting the collar slip past his shoulder as they settle at the low table in the living room to eat.   
  
They idle around Sugizo's small apartment the rest of the afternoon, because the rain shows no signs of stopping. They watch the news, chat with the other members when the phone line cooperates long enough—and they work on music too, Ryuichi propped against Sugizo's shoulder as he strums on an acoustic guitar.   
  
Work doesn't last long, however, because the power goes out again and forces them out into the elements for batteries and candles, instant noodles and pre-packaged takeaway for dinner. They eat by candlelight, and while it's less romantic than it sounds Ryuichi admits privately that it's almost a little bit fun. They're in the midst of cleaning up when the power rumbles back on, and then they move to the couch, working their way through a dusty selection of video tapes and a bottle of smoky-sweet plum wine Sugizo had tucked away in his kitchen.   
  
That they fall together in Sugizo's bed again seems inevitable, but while there's a newfound familiarity to their motions there's also something like hesitance, the guitarist's hands idling overlong at the hem of his borrowed shirt. He remembers scattered buttons on the floor and thinks that— _perhaps_ —he should have exercised a modicum of caution before descending on him so incessantly.   
  
"Are you sure you want to do this again?" Ryuichi asks, straightforward and searching as he looks down from his position atop the other man's lap, fingers splayed across his bare shoulders. He strokes over them as Sugizo searches for a response, briefly stricken before he regains his look of benign interest.   
  
"We're friends, aren't we?" He says mildly, and the vocalist slowly nods, even though he thinks their relationship can't be so easily defined as  _friends_.   
  
"We're friends," Sugizo continues, conversational as his hands glide up the smooth skin of Ryuichi's back, "and we like each other, and we've clearly managed to act normally around each other all day. So nothing's changed," he adds, and the smaller man has to bite back a short, skeptical laugh.   
  
But they have retained their former camaraderie, another part of him thinks; friendly and easygoing and able to communicate as easily as ever while working. There's an added physicality to some of their actions now, but while going over the beginnings of a song it had been as though nothing had changed, just like Sugizo said.   
  
"Mm," Ryuichi hums noncommittally, unable to keep himself from idling a kiss to the inviting curve of his jaw, and Sugizo takes it as a sign to continue, hands dropping to cup his ass. Ryuichi's head snaps up as he gives it a squeeze, breath hitching of its own accord.   
  
"We like each other," the guitarist repeats as the singer lets out a flustered hiss of his name, "and you want me, don't you?" The asshole wants him to say it, of  _course_  he does.   
  
"Despite my better judgement," Ryuichi replies in a syrupy-sweet voice that drips with sarcasm, and Sugizo rolls his eyes and pinches his ass, drawing a high yelp from him—as well as a scowl that softens when hands glide up to catch fingers in his hair, stroking through it in slow motions that have him leaning into the touch. "Yes," he adds, voice soft and serious as he lifts his head to meet the other man's gaze. "I want you."   
  
"That's better," Sugizo grins, urging a brief kiss to his lips. "Because I want you too. Nothing complicated about that, right?" He draws the singer into another kiss, one that deepens over time, and by the time they part for air Ryuichi feels flayed apart, tongue running over his bitten lips as the other man divests him of his shirt.   
  
"Right," Ryuichi echoes, murmured quietly as Sugizo's lips work a hot trail down his chest, and that's where the conversation ends, at least for now. The next time he speaks it's to spur the other man on, desperate gasps of  _more_  and  _harder_ ; and once, despite himself, he cries out a mantra of the other man's name, moaned against his neck and followed by a hoarse  _you're perfect_  he hopes the guitarist won't notice.  
  
(Sugizo notices, and it's one of the first signs that there's something more there, something worth coming back to time and again—and it's a sentiment he returns, breathed out reverently even as his movements harshen and his fingers twist too-tight in long black curls, pulling him closer by it to capture his lips in another ravenous kiss.)


End file.
